I suspect you're a little like me. Not everything has a place, and even those things that do have places aren't often to be found in those places. Worse still, things stored in the right place shouldn't really be there at all. Lost you already?

Take my T-shirts. Please. It hit me this evening (as they threatened to flop off the shelf, albeit in a neatly folded fashion) that there's simply too many of the blighters. It's no coincidence that if you acquire, say, "n" shirts a year, and throw away, say, "x"  shirts in the same period, you'll have a non-Euclidean positive surplus on your hands pretty darn soon. See, good at maths, me. So I've decided, like an existentialist anti-hero played by Russell Crowe, to act.

Being an educated God-fearing reader, you'll know that it was Paul, in his email attachment to the Corinthians, who said that he put away childish things when he became a man. Whereas I find myself with:

• 4 juggling convention T-shirts (Coventry 1992, Birmingham and Leeds 1993, and Manchester 1994)
• 3 Red Nose Day T-shirts, including a hypercolour effort from the late 80s
• an orange Frisbee T-shirt from around the same time

Seen BBC2's Life Laundry? I can hear that woman's voice telling me to ditch these items and move on. She's right, naturally, and that's the rub. Wonder if I can send them off to a safe home via the universal bargain bin that is ebay?

If You Take Away With You Nothing Else

1. it's history: the T was apparently introduced by the US Navy in 1942, "a knitted cotton undershirt"
2. it's a mystery: that Charlie George shirt has to go
3. it's a truism: and all I got was this lousy T-shirt

Be seeing you!

Ed